


Garbled Parsletongue

by WillGirl



Series: Not Their Fathers' Sons [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Crush, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Homosexuality, M/M, Misunderstanding, Post - Deathly Hallows, Ravenclaw Rose Weasley, School, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillGirl/pseuds/WillGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy have some difficulty communicating about their new relationship, and things fall apart. Can they put it back together again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Problems With Ill-Fitting Trousers

Albus had to admit, there were definitely both advantages and disadvantages to living in a dormitory. For one thing, all four of his Fifth Year Slytherin housemates were moderately attractive—at least to a horny sixteen-year-old—and two of them were downright _hot_. However, much as Albus enjoyed watching the other boys change these days, he dreaded it as well; he was certain that one day, he was going to get caught ogling someone, and he consequently did his best to avoid drinking in the sight of the naked teenage males he was surrounded with. This was annoying, as it was a sight he very much would have liked to spend a great deal of focus on.

He couldn’t even stare at his boyfriend most of them time, for fear of being spotted doing so by one of the others. That was especially difficult, as Scorpius Malfoy was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

Scorpius’s hair was always immaculately combed which Albus, with his own ramshackle mop of dark locks, envied intensely. Scor’s hair was pale as moonlight and as fine as cobwebs and Albus loved the feel of running the silky strands between his fingers. He liked running his fingers over every part of Scorpius, actually; every inch of him was pale and perfect and silkenly smooth, from the pale hair on his arms to the slightly darker patch between his legs.

Albus knew that there was absolutely no truth behind any blood-purity nonsense, but he had to admit that he was a fan of the result of the Malfoys’ elegant breeding, however off-base its motivations had been. It had culminated in Scorpius, and to Albus’s eyes, Scorpius was perfection itself.

He was lean, and icy, and gracefully proportioned with just the right amount of definition to his muscles: sculpted and firm from Quidditch playing, but still sensuously soft and gropeable. Scorpius was fine-boned and delicate as a bird, but with a haughty aristocracy that gave the pointed plains of his pale face a stern strength beneath that dainty illusion of fragility.

His eyes were likewise deceptive: they were a faint gray that should have been colorless and empty, but rather than vague and cloudy they instead glittered as sharply and as brightly as any knife. Scorpius’s eyes were a blade: all icy disdain and scorn, but when they looked at Albus they turned somehow warm. Albus could have wrapped himself up in those icy clouds and stayed there forever, safe within knives that sliced anyone else who glanced their way.

Scorpius had a tendency towards arrogance, and a propensity for sneering, that Albus figured he should probably find deplorable, but he loved it. Scorpius’s prideful nature delighted Albus, who was too self-conscious himself to ever dream of retorting or retaliating to slights the way that Scorpius did—at least not unless his best friend was at his side to encourage and assist.

Of course, Albus liked having Scorpius at his side for _any_ reason...

That was another thing that was both a plus and a minus to sharing a dormitory the way they did: Albus got to sleep with his boyfriend every night, but there were three other boys in the same room. It could be agony, having Scorpius so nearby and yet being unable to do anything about it. It was also nice, to know that Scor was always so close. They had surreptitiously nudged their beds closer, so that they could just reach one another’s fingers if they stretched out in the middle of the night.

Albus didn’t ever really have nightmares any more.

He smiled at Scorpius, then outright grinned. He couldn’t help it, he snickered. Scorpius shot him a dirty look that made Albus laugh harder.

Scorpius had always been a little short for his age, at least when compared to Albus and his taller, weedier Weasley cousins. He had spent probably his whole school career vowing that a growth spurt was coming, that some day he would be as tall as his father and his grandfather. Albus had, in turn, spent those same years teasing Scorpius that he was going to inherit his mother’s diminutive height instead.

It looked like Scorpius might have been right at last, because he had suddenly sprouted, practically overnight. He still wasn’t as tall as Albus, who had grown with the steady inevitability of a weed, or a Weasley, but Scorpius was finally inching towards the height that had always eluded him.

Unfortunately, he was doing it without collusion from his clothing. His always impeccably-tailored trousers now hung nearly two inches too short, exposing the graceful turn of his ankles and the tightly-laced, old-fashioned boots that sheathed them. His pale wrists protruded past the edge of his cuff-linked sleeves, although not as far as his legs did. At least he was still as skinny as ever, so he didn’t have to worry about anything being too tight; just too short.

It annoyed Scorpius to no end, which meant that it quite amused Albus. Scor always dressed with absolute deliberation, in the finest styles that were always tailored to fit him to perfection. He was as fussy about his clothing as any girl—well, fussier than most of the girls Albus knew, but then again High Fashion was rarely a Weasley trait. Uncle Bill’s children were the only ones who really cared about fashion over function, and they at least were always impressed by Scorpius’s garb, absurdly old-fashioned though it tended to be.

Old-fashioned, but stylish. The pure-blood community—even if much of it, these days, wasn’t really _pure_ -blooded and didn’t much care if they were, everyone still called them that—they were good at mixing modern style with traditional wizarding garb, and the Malfoys tended to lead that trend. Scorpius was no exception, and now to be caught with ill-fitting clothing left him very disgruntled, just when he should have been elated to have hit that growth spurt at last.

There were less than two weeks until break, when Scorpius could go home and have his parents replace everything he had grown out of with the well-tailored, unnecessarily expensive clothing he was accustomed to, but that was two weeks longer than Scorpius was used to having to wait for something that he wanted. So while everyone else was worrying about their upcoming tests and assignments, Scorpius was busy grumbling over his apparel.

He crossed one leg over his knee so that he could try and pull the cloth down over his ankle. It did not, of course, work. The cloth was far too well made to stretch, even when its owner wanted it to. He swore quietly.

Chambray Zabini sneered a rude comment about Scorpius’s unfashionable garb, then trooped out with the others, leaving Albus alone to watch Scor tug unsuccessfully on the hem of his trousers.

“You could just Transfigure them,” Albus offered, not for the first time. “It’s what everyone else does when they grow out mid-year—well, if they notice.”

Scorpius sniffed. “These aren’t Muggle denims,” he drawled disdainfully, “I’m not about to _transfigure_ my _clothing_ like some common slob, thank you very much.”

Albus shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, trying not to grin. Scor standing on his pride was hilarious, especially when he was trying to look dignified in too-short trousers.

Scorpius abandoned dignity for insult, and stuck his tongue out. Albus snickered, then boldly took advantage of their now-empty dormitory to capture Scor’s tongue for a kiss.

Scorpius immediately stopped fussing with his clothing and dropped his legs so he could arch forward into the embrace. Albus leaned down, bracing his arms on either side of Scor’s waist, and enjoyed the sweet taste of Scorpius on his tongue. He dimly became aware of cool fingers cupping his face, and then of a hand sliding its way up the back of his shirt.

Albus groaned and leaned further into the kiss, then overbalanced and they flopped together onto the bed. The two boys squirmed backwards awkwardly, not wanting to separate even though they were halfway off the edge. They made it eventually, with much laughter and rutching around.

Distantly it occurred to Albus that making out first thing in the morning, in their shared dormitory, with the door unlocked, knowing that at any moment one of their housemates might trot back up from breakfast for something he had forgotten, was the epitome of a bad idea.

But then Scorpius’s leg curved up against his thigh, and he stopped thinking at all.

Much more important was kissing or licking every inch of Scorpius’s face and neck, and nibbling his way down to his collar. Albus tugged Scorpius’s tightly-knotted tie loose so that he could reach down further, nuzzling at his pale collarbone to make Scor groan. Frantic hands fumbled at Albus’s own necktie, although even in this state Scorpius’s fingers were deft enough to get Albus’s collar unbuttoned with almost indecent speed.

Albus tangled his fingers in Scorpius’s silken hair and pressed forward, grinding them both into the plush bedcovers. Scorpius gasped and eased both of his hands under Albus’s shirt, delicately teasing his fingers across the sensitive skin beneath. Albus moaned and all but devoured Scor’s face, snogging him so hard that neither boy could breathe. Now it was Albus’s trousers that felt too small.

Over the quiet, panting sounds of desire, they suddenly became aware of thundering footsteps. The boys froze, practically petrified in each other’s arms. The footsteps went past, their owner a Seventh Year student judging from the dormitory that he went into. They heard the sounds of a door banging open, and then a trunk being quickly ransacked; the door slammed shut again, and the footsteps trooped past and away, and they started breathing again.

Albus went limp with relief and rolled off of his friend to lie trembling on the bed next to him. After a few grateful minutes they forced themselves to sit up and begin the disappointing task of neatening-up after their aborted snogging.

Scorpius smoothed his hair back into place—Albus didn’t even bother tending to his own—and re-tied his tie, although a rosy blush lingered on his pale cheeks. Albus grumpily re-tucked his shirt and struggled with his own tie before finally giving up on salvaging the knot, and took it off to start all over again.

Having fidgeted his own clothing back to impeccable neatness—albeit with nothing to be done about the disappointing length of legs and sleeves—Scorpius slid over next to Albus and started fussing with his hair. Albus let him, because Scorpius refused to be convinced that it was a lost cause.

(Secretly, he just liked the excuse it gave him for touching Albus’s gloriously thick, lively shock of black hair, but he guised that under the pretense of tidiness.)

“We probably should be more careful,” Albus muttered. His face felt very flushed.

Scorpius nodded. “I certainly won’t disagree with that,” he said, smiling wryly. “I imagine it might be rather awkward to explain, were we to be observed unintentionally.”

Albus snorted. “You think?”

“Well, maybe not so much.” Scorpius shrugged and smirked. “After all, there really aren’t a lot of other explanations for what we were doing. I should think, actually, it would be a pretty brief and self-explanatory conversation.”

Albus had to laugh, despite the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach at the idea of being thus discovered by one of their dorm-mates—or worse, by a professor. _Imagine if Uncle Neville had caught us snogging behind the Greenhouse last week_ , he though, and shuddered.

“Not like the upcoming ones with our parents,” Scorpius continued, grimacing.

“Wait—what?” Albus wrenched himself away from pleasant recollections of plants, and goggled at his friend.

“The imminent conversations with our parents,” Scorpius elaborated. “After we get home for break? You know, when we tell them about the two of _us?_ ”

Albus just stared. 

“What do you mean, _imminent conversations?_ ” he repeated dumbly.

“There’s less than two weeks now until break,” Scorpius pointed out unhelpfully. “I would say that qualifies as imminent.”

“I don’t understand how that has anything to do with telling our parents about _us_ ,” Albus yelped.

Scorpius frowned. “Well...we’ll be home, then,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“That explains nothing,” Albus retorted. “What does us being home have to do with _telling_ them things?”

“Because we’ll be able to speak to them face-to-face,” Scorpius replied. He had gone very pale. “So we can...can tell them, you know, things. _Us_. Everything.”

Albus started. “Are you mental?” he yelped. “Why would we _tell_ them that?”

Scorpius stared at Albus, and his grey eyes were suddenly chill and distant. “I see,” he said coolly, and stood up. Without another word, Scorpius walked out of the dormitory, leaving Albus alone behind him, gaping like a landed fish.

“Scor, wait!” Albus cried, and took off after his friend, but if Scorpius heard, he did not listen. When Albus clattered into the common room, it was empty, the heavy stone wall sliding shut with a hollow silence that reverberated like a gong in the pit of Albus’s stomach.

He swallowed hard and, much as he wanted to chase after his friend, Albus found that he simply could not move.


	2. Cousin Comfort

Scorpius was still and silent all through breakfast, sitting pointedly apart from Albus. Albus tried, once or twice, to offer a conversational foray, but Scorpius stiffly ignored him. He did the same thing through their classes, sitting with other Slytherins instead of with Albus, whom he always sat with. Whenever Albus spoke, or approached, or even so much as passed him a piece of parchment, Scorpius’s only reaction was one of frozen disdain and distant disinterest, as if he barely deigned to take note of Albus at all, and was not impressed on the rare occasions when he did so.

Albus realized, for the first time, what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Malfoy ice.

He didn’t like it.

“Scor, wait,” Albus said, catching his arm on the way up the stairs. He didn’t care if they made a scene; he didn’t care if every Slytherin and Ravenclaw trundling out of the Transfiguration classroom saw them. He just wanted to make this—whatever it was—go away.

Scorpius paused, looked down at the hand on his arm, and then up at Albus with the most blisteringly icy sneer that Albus had ever seen on his friend’s pointed face.

“Excuse me,” Scorpius said coldly, and shook Albus off.

Albus stepped back and let him go. He couldn’t think to do anything else. He was actually winded, physically, as if those cold grey eyes had stabbed him in more than metaphor. Albus swallowed hard, and watched Scorpius stalk haughtily up the stairs, and he fought back tears.

“Okay—what the hell is going on?”

Albus turned around to see a tall girl with bushy red hair coming towards him. She was frowning unhappily, the expression on her face one that meant Serious Business was going to happen, possibly with buttons and banners and slogans, but possibly just with brooms. She was Rose Weasley, and Albus’s favorite cousin, and right now he couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to talk to less than the insightful Ravenclaw girl.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, and even as he spoke he knew she wasn’t going to believe him. “What are you talking about?”

Rose’s frown intensified, her heavy brows snapping together determinedly. “You and Scorp,” she said, “what’s up?”

“Don’t call him that,” Albus said, automatically protesting the nickname that Rose had given Scorpius years ago, when they disliked one another, and that he despised. She still used it now, even though they were friends, because it annoyed Scorpius, and that in turn amused Rose. Their friendship was one of antagonism and constant one-upmanship and in their competition Albus, despite his familial ties to Rose, almost always sided with Scorpius instead.

Rose ignored the admonishment, as she usually did. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Albus lied again.

“Albus...” Rose stared at him warningly.

Albus sighed, a heavy sound of defeat. He didn’t know why he even bothered fighting these battles; Rose always, always won.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled miserably. “I said something, I guess, and now he’s mad at me, but he won’t talk to me, so I can’t figure out why.”

Rose frowned, pondering, then clucked her tongue. “I see,” she said sagely.

“Well I don’t,” Albus muttered.

Rose rolled her eyes and smacked him companionably on the shoulder. Albus yelped. Rose ignored him. “Well I don’t see _why_ , dummy, obviously,” she elaborated. “But that does at least explain _what_.” She gave Albus a smile that was half-comforting, half condescension. “You do have a tendency to shoot your mouth off without thinking, you know,” she pointed out gently. “You say something really horrible without meaning to, and then you’re too oblivious to notice that you’ve done it until someone else explains.”

Albus opened his mouth to protest, and Rose gave him a hard, almost pitying look. Albus shut his mouth again. He dropped his gaze to his trainers and shrugged; not quite an admission, but not a protest, either.

“It was only a matter of time before you said _something_ that was going to offend Scorpius,” she continued. “He’s _prickly_.” Rose shrugged. “Honestly, I’m just surprised it hasn't happened earlier.”

“You...you are?”

Rose shrugged again. “Well, he _is_ pretty easy to offend,” she explained. “Merlin knows I got to be very good at it our first few years here,” she added with a wry grin. Albus rolled his eyes in tired agreement. “ _But_ ,” Rose continued firmly, “I’m not the only one.”

Albus nodded. “That’s true...” he admitted. “James is usually pretty good at setting him off, too...”

“And Frank, and Sean, and Calvin, and Fred, and Mark, and Emmett, and Molly, and little Col,” Rose listed, ticking her fingers as she went, “and sometimes even Hugo, when he’s feeling shirty.”

Albus grinned. “And Lily, when she gets her dander up.”

Rose snorted. “Oh, Lily,” she said, “let’s not even get _started_ on Lily...”

Albus managed a small laugh, and felt somewhat better for it. The ice was still tight in his gut, but with Rose around, it was hard to feel that any problem was insurmountable, no matter how impossible it had seemed before.

“Anyway,” Rose continued, “my point is, this really isn’t all that surprising. You said something dumb and didn’t notice, and now he’s huffy.”

“He’s not—”

“He’s _huffy_ ,” Rose insisted. “He’s in one of his little snits, only this is the first time he’s been snitty at _you_ , so you’re freaking out.” She patted Albus’s arm, smiling kindly. “Take it from someone who makes him go shirty _a lot_ ,” she said, “it’s not the end of the world.”

“I guess,” said Albus, unconvinced.

“Look,” Rose offered, “how about if I go and talk to him, and try to figure out what’s wrong, so that you’ll know what you’re meant to apologize for? Then you two can kiss and make up, and everything will be copacetic again.”

Albus forced a smile, although he had nearly stopped breathing when Rose brought up _kissing_. She didn’t seem to have meant it, though; to her, it was merely a figure of speech. His cousin might be incredibly insightful, but it wasn’t like she could read minds, after all. (Aunt Hermione had put the kibosh on her children learning Legilimency until they were of age, much to Hugo’s disgruntlement.)

Rose squeezed his shoulder. “So cheer up,” she ordered, then pulled him into a sudden, one-armed hug. By the time Albus had caught his breath she was halfway up the stairs. “Because I have a match this week-end,” Rose shouted back at him over her shoulder, “and I expect you to be cheering yourself hoarse while I beat the Gryffindors!”

Albus managed a shaky grin and a nod, then slumped tiredly against the cool stone wall. He tried to believe Rose—she was usually right—but still, this felt like something bigger than a mere _snit_...

_Maybe it’s because we’ve just never had one before_ , Albus thought bracingly, trying to cheer himself up. _Maybe Rose is right, and everything will be fine_.

He tried another smile, but this time it was sour, and faded quickly. He gave up on false cheer, and decided to pin all his hopes on Rose, instead.


	3. Library Revelations

Scorpius was sulking in the library when Rose tracked him down. Or, more accurately, he was  _working_ in the library, and just so happened to exude such a chill and reserved mood that no one dared interrupt him, and so he had been left mercifully to his own devices. 

It would take a lot more than an aura of inapproachability to deter Rose Weasley, though, and she strode right up through his invisible walls. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, plopping down unceremoniously at the long table that he had previously had all for himself and his books. 

Scorpius looked up, wearing his best disdainful eyebrow, and stared her down. “I beg your pardon?” he said icily, an obvious cue for her to apologize for the intrusion and leave him be. 

Rose only caught obvious cues when she wanted to, though, and this one she ignored shamelessly. “With you and Al,” she continued, undeterred. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Scorpius said firmly. He busied himself with a textbook. 

“Bullshit,” Rose retorted bluntly. 

Scorpius  _shushed_ her automatically, and looked around for Master Lorgnette, the stern librarian, but they seemed to be unobserved. 

“Don’t _shush_ me,” Rose whispered back, “it _is_ bullshit.”

Scorpius sniffed, but refused to reply. 

“He said something dumb, didn’t he?” Rose pressed on doggedly. “He does have a tendency...”

“That wasn’t it at all,” Scorpius answered primly, “and it’s really none of your business, either.”

Rose shot up an eyebrow. “The hell it isn’t,” she insisted. “I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know now, or so help me Scorpius Malfoy, I will find some way to pry it out of you and it will not be a way that you’ll enjoy.”

Scorpius remained silent long enough for it to hopefully be clear that he was unintimidated by her threat; continuing to scratch idly with his quill, as if he actually was doing work, despite having no idea even of the title of the book out in front of him. He pursed his lips grudgingly and glanced across the table at Rose. 

She waited impatiently, arms crossed in front of her round bosom, and a stern look on her freckled face. She was, clearly, not going to go away, no matter how long he made her wait. Better, he decided, to get this over with.

“Albus has simply made it quite clear what sort of value he places on our friendship,” Scorpius said stiffly, “and it is not an overly high one.”

“That’s a load of rubbish,” Rose snapped back. “You’re Albus’s best friend in the world, he likes you more than _anyone_. I used to resent the shit out of you for that, don’t you remember?”

Scorpius sniffed, unconvinced.

Rose’s blue eyes narrowed. “All right then,” she said, “what’s going on?”

“As I said—” 

“Don’t give me that,” Rose interrupted him harshly. “Don’t give me some trite little bit of politeness, Scorpius, give me the _truth_. You two have been acting oddly for weeks, and this is just the final twist. So I want an explanation, and I want a _real_ one. All right?”

Scorpius stared at her for a long time. 

He was never quite sure what to make of Rose Weasley. She was reliable, certainly, but volatile as well. And she’d disliked him enough when first they’d met, although in truth, that had been at least half his fault. She had been possessive of her cousin and Scorpius, miffed at this apparent usurping of his new friend, had replied with snark and scorn. It had gone downhill from there, with the two of them competing for everything from Albus’s friendship to the top scores of the class. Rose had taken it amiss to have a Slytherin outscore a Ravenclaw on anything academic, and particularly so  _this_ Slytherin. Scorpius, meanwhile, was so used to being treated as the very best of everything, that he had found it insulting that this noisy, uncouth red-head had dared try and upstage him. 

It wasn’t until their competitive edge found the Quidditch pitch that the two of them had managed to find friendship underneath all the rivalry (much to Albus’s relief; he had grown tired of having his two closest friends so firmly at odds). Now they got along well, or at least enjoyed the ways in which they didn’t, but Scorpius still wasn’t always sure where he stood with her. She would defend him to James and the other Gryffindors when they chose to heckle him for his house colors, but she was just as quick herself to call him out on anything she could. 

And Ravenclaw that Rose might be, she still had a Gryffindor temper. Scorpius had no desire to be punched-out for daring to sully her precious cousin, if that was how she might choose to view their relationship. But it would be nice to tell someone...

“I can’t,” he said finally, “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything, not without Albus’s permission as well.” He shrugged apologetically, but firmly. There was nothing else to be said. 

“Oh, I already have that,” Rose replied breezily. 

“I beg your pardon?” gaped Scorpius. 

“Yeah,” she said, “he told me to go find out what was bothering you, so he can apologize for whatever it is, so there you go: he doesn’t mind you telling me.”

Scorpius stared. “Oh,” he said dimly. “Really?”

Rose looked at him drily. “Scorp,” she said, “am I  _any_ good at lying? Seriously?”

Scorpius hesitated. “Well...no,” he admitted, “not really. Well enough to fool Gryffindors, maybe, but...”

“But you’re no Gryffindor,” Rose finished for him. “Come on, then. Tell me what’s going on.”

Scorpius sighed. “Oh, very well,” he said, somewhat more petulantly than he had meant to. “It’s just that I had thought that Albus and I were in love, but it seems he’s ashamed of me.”

Rose stared. For a long time she said nothing at all, then, her face utterly blank, she said, tonelessly, “I see.”

Scorpius nodded, unable now to stop himself from speaking, not now that he had begun. “I mean, I’m terrified at the idea of telling my parents, too—but I still intended to. I thought—I thought Albus  _deserved_ that much, you know? I thought that this, that  _us_ , we deserved that—deserved  _honesty_ .”

Rose nodded mutely, her eyes very wide, her face expressionless.

“I mean, I’m not saying I need to go shouting about it to everyone. I don’t care. I don’t give a shit if anyone _here_ knows a damn thing about it—it’s no business of theirs, is it?” Scorpius continued fiercely. “But...but my _parents_...I can’t not tell _them_. That’s different, that _matters_. That’s... _important_ ,” he finished quietly, and sighed. “Only not, apparently, to Albus.”

“Ah,” said Rose.

“When I brought it up—I mean, I’d just naturally figured that we’d inform them of our, well, of the fact we’re...well, dating; I thought we’d tell them over break, while we were home—face-to-face, you know? Rather than tell them something like _that_ in an _owl_...” He gave a sharp bark of laughter. Rose did not respond. 

“Well, he just looked at me like I was daft, when I mentioned it,” Scorpius went on sourly. “Didn’t see why we’d ever bother, didn’t think it was _worth_ the _risk,_ I suppose,” he scoffed. “Why bother upsetting anyone, when it doesn’t _mean_ anything?”

Rose had gone very, very still. She looked at Scorpius like she had never seen him before, but suddenly her blinders had been lifted, and now she knew him at last for what he really was. She gave no comment to his words; she simply watched.

“I...maybe it’s my fault,” Scorpius said softly. “I’ve been assuming that, well that it means to him what it does to me and...and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it never did. Maybe...maybe I’m just an idiot,” he mumbled. 

“Well maybe you are!” Rose snapped. She jumped up from the table and stormed off in a flurry of dark robes and fiery hair.

Scorpius stared after her stupidly. Master Lorgnette peered around a shelf to scowl at Scorpius for all the noise, but the stupefied Slytherin didn’t even notice the dour librarian. He just sat there, shocked and stunned, unable to think of anything to say at all.


	4. Final Translation

It was very late when Scorpius trudged back into the Slytherin common room. It was deserted, save for one lone seventh year who had fallen asleep over her N.E.W.T.s studies in the corner. Scorpius crept up the stairs to his dormitory, cringing at every creak and whisper that announced his presence to any who cared to be listening for him.

No one made any note of his arrival, though. Lycoris Nott stirred raspily in his sleep, and Scorpius held his breath, but the other boy just rolled over and settled back into a faintly-wheezing slumber. Scorpius sighed in relief and sneaked on tiptoes over to his bed, and then to the one next to it: Albus’s.

He stayed for several minutes just standing there, chewing on his lip, watching the heavy green curtains as if they might, at any moment, entangle him in their folds and smother him to death. Nothing stirred, though, until Scorpius finally mustered what courage he had and reached out to twitch the drapes aside.

Albus slept undisturbed on the other side of the heavy fabric, but to Scorpius’s eyes, his slumber looked somewhat sad. Scorpius wondered if that was just his own mind, his own emotional state, playing tricks. Albus looked lovely, lying there sprawled across his pillows, his exquisitely unruly locks splayed across the pale silk like ink or shadows made thick and solid. The dim light of the underwater windows played across his cheekbones, casting a faintly greenish pallor to his ordinarily robust complexion. His mouth hung slightly open, making Scorpius think about all the times he had kissed those full, soft lips in the past few days, and how much he had been looking forward to kissing them a hundred more in the days to follow.

He took a deep breath and was annoyed to note that, when he reached out, his hand trembled slightly. Scorpius scowled, and steeled himself, and shook Albus gently awake.

“Huh—wha?” Albus mumbled, but six years of subterfuge, of making his Marauder grandfather proud, kept the noise to a bare whisper, and he quickly fell silent while he blinked himself to wakefulness. 

“Scor?” he breathed. His voice trembled, possibly because he was not yet awake, but possibly—

Scorpius hoped.

He tried a smile that he was certain was weak and probably watery. “Hi,” he whispered. “Can we talk?”

Albus nodded immediately, flinging himself from the bed so quickly that Scorpius nearly stumbled over the flapping curtains thus disturbed. Albus didn’t bother with slippers or robe, but followed Scorpius immediately down the stairs to the all-but-deserted common room.

“I’m sorry,” Albus said, as Scorpius opened his mouth to speak. 

Scorpius fell silent, blinking.

“Whatever I did—I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Albus looked so forlorn, standing there in his pale pajamas and Muggle T-shirt, pouting contritely, his green eyes wide and hopeful, that Scorpius had to fight the urge to enfold him in a hug that would never let go.

Instead he shook his head. “No,” Scorpius said, _"I’m_ sorry. It was my fault, and I took it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Bet I did,” he said drily.

Scorpius frowned. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Rose pointed out that I kind of have a tendency to talk without, you know, thinking,” Albus explained, shrugging sheepishly. 

Scorpius smiled, just a little bit. “You do, yeah,” he agreed, “but I’m used to that.”

“Oh.” Albus blinked. “So you...you weren’t mad because of something I said?”

Scorpius shook his head, then paused. “Well, yes...but it was my fault I got upset, not yours.”

“Okay,” said Albus, “now I’m confused.”

Scorpius laughed tiredly and led the way to the long, plush couch in front of the fireplace. Bright embers still smoldered there, casting a cozy glow over the room, despite the late hour and warm weather. Down in the dungeons, the fireplace was usually lit, no matter the season.

Albus followed, the boys sitting awkwardly next to one another, near enough to touch but without doing so. It was strange, because they  _always_ touched, always sat close; even before, when they had been only friends, and there had been no snogging, they had never flinched away from contact, the way gruffer blokes tended to. Despite Scorpius’s chill reserve and Albus’s moody shyness, they had always been physically demonstrative—with each other, at least. There had been hugs, and arms enfolded, and shoulders leaned against, slumbering heads rested upon one another, legs tangled on crowded couches... Now, to sit deliberately apart, was strange. 

Scorpius sighed. “I am sorry,” he said. Albus’s hand moved as if he had thought about reaching out to grasp Scor’s, but it never made it off the cushion. “I think I got carried away,” Scorpius explained. “I think I—well, to be perfectly honest, I think I fell in love with you.”

Albus smiled shyly. “Well, that’s okay,” he said, “I love you too.”

“No you don’t,” said Scorpius. He hurried to continue before Albus could protest: “Not the way I love you, I mean. I know you _love_ me, I just...I fell _in love_ with you. Like...like the sappy, head-over-heels kind,” he admitted grudgingly, feeling his cheeks grow hot as he spoke. He couldn’t look at Albus while he said that, but he also couldn’t keep from glancing sideways, just for a moment, to see how his friend would react to his pathetic admission.

Surprisingly, Albus was grinning. “Well...brilliant,” he said. It might have just been the light from the fire, but his face looked rather redder than usual. “Because, you know, that’s what happened to me, too.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Scorpius said harshly, and Albus’s smile vanished. “I’m not some—some tragic wilting flower who’s going to pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower out of heartbreak, or something,” he snarled.

“I—I’m not, I...I wasn’t...”

“It’s fine,” Scorpius interrupted, fighting hard to keep his voice steady. It sounded, to his ears, a little more shrill than usual, but at least it did not waver. “I’m all right, Albus, really. I understand. I’m the one that got carried away with things. I get it: you like me well enough, and that should have been good enough, and I had no call to go and make you feel badly because you don’t share my—” 

“But I do!” Albus cut in. He glanced around hurriedly and dropped his voice back to a low murmur to avoid detection. The girl in the corner didn’t move, though, and no one else came in. Albus still whispered, or nearly, just to be safe: “I really, really do. Scor, I love you.”

Scorpius looked into the bright, green eyes staring back at him. They were warm and open and guileless, and Albus had never been able to lie to him anyway, not that he ever really tried, and...

“I don’t understand,” Scorpius said softly, feeling burgeoning tears choke his throat and muffle his words. “If you...if you _do_...” He couldn’t let himself believe it, not yet. He cleared his throat, or tried to, but it didn’t seem to help. “If you _do_ feel...feel the same way I do, then...then _why_...”

This time Albus did squeeze his hand. “Why what?” he asked gently.

“Why don’t you want to tell anyone?” The words burst from Scorpius’s lips as a plaintive wail. “Why are you—why are you so... _ashamed_ of me?” he asked miserably.

“What?” Albus gaped, then launched himself at Scorpius in a tight hug. “No,” he said, “no, no, no. That isn’t—not at _all_. You have it _all wrong_ , Scor, I’m not ashamed of you!” He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “I _love_ you, you stupid moron, how could I ever be _ashamed_ of that?”

Scorpius sniffled into Albus’s shoulder, trying very hard not to cry. It was difficult, with Albus’s arms so firm and comforting around him; it would be easy to just let it go, pour the strain of today out through aching sobs, but Scorpius fought the urge, and swallowed his tears. “But...but I thought...”

Albus sat back, just a little, so that he could speak properly, but he did not take his arms from his friend’s thin shoulders. “Scorpius, I don’t want to tell my parents because I’m  _scared_ . And I’m not worried they won’t approve of  _you_ , I’m worried they won’t approve of  _me_ .”

“Oh,” said Scorpius. He felt, suddenly, very stupid. “Oh,” he said again, quietly. “Well, it’s...that’s not very likely, is it?” he asked. “I mean...the odds are far more likely it _will_ be me they object to, don’t you think? I mean...considering who I _am_...” He stretched an arm out in a vague and miserable gesture that seemed to encompass forty years and two wars. 

“No,” Albus said, “no, you’re brilliant. What could they object to?”

Scorpius glanced up at Albus with a very cool, almost pitying look in his grey eyes. “Really?” he asked drily. “You can think of nothing?”

Albus flushed slightly. “Well, that...that’s stupid,” he protested. “That was a billion years ago and, anyway, you’re not your dad, or  _his_ dad, and...and...” He finished with a shrug. “And I love you,” he said firmly. 

Scorpius pulled the other boy down for a long, lingering kiss. “And I love you,” he said softly when they broke apart at last. “But still...”

“Besides,” Albus cut him off, apparently not wanting to let them dwell on that subject, “I’m at least as objectionable to your parents as you are to mine.”

“And how on earth do you figure that?”

“Well—I’m a half-blood and a Potter _and_ a Weasley,” Albus pointed out, “so even aside from being a bloke, I can’t imagine that I’m exactly what they would have picked out for you, either.”

Scorpius worried at his lip, and thought about arguing the point, but gave up with a small sigh. “No,” he said, “no, I don’t think you are,” he admitted sadly.

“Well...that’s why I was scared, is all,” Albus said. “I was afraid of what my parents would say, and do, and think, and of yours. So...I didn’t want to tell them.”

Scorpius burrowed further into Albus’s arms, suddenly feeling cold. “I don’t either, really,” he confessed, “but I know we have to. I mean...if we want this to be something more than just, like, the occasional bit of after-class tomfoolery...”

“I want it to be more,” Albus said quietly. His voice was very husky, and his green eyes bright. Scorpius kissed him again. 

“Me too,” he said. 

They spent several minutes snogging, until their faces were flushed and their hair mussed and their breath came in heavy, panting gasps. They drew back, just a bit, and rested there in one another’s arms.

“Okay,” Albus said tiredly, “I guess you’re right, then. We have to tell them.”


	5. EPILOGUE

“So,” a girl’s voice broke into his thoughts, “you and Scorp seem to have made up, or so I gather from all the cheerfulness running rampant.”

Albus looked up from his book. Rose was standing next to him, her arms crossed, and her freckled face drawn into a slight frown. Albus couldn’t help but grin. He had been grinning pretty much non-stop since last night, when he had miraculously found himself back in Scorpius’s arms. He couldn’t even bring himself to protest the nickname; right now, it didn’t matter  _what_ anyone called Scorpius, because he was  _his_ Scorpius, by whatever name one used for the pale blond, and that was all that mattered.

“Yeah,” he said, beaming, “yeah we have. Thanks.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rose replied noncommittally.

“No, really,” Albus insisted. He turned around on the bench, so that he could face his cousin head-on. He wanted to convince her of his sincerity; and of his gratitude. He forced himself to be serious, although there was nothing he could do about that grin. It was probably a permanent part of his face now. “It seems I owe you quite the debt, Rose,” Albus said solemnly. “Thank you.”

Rose shrugged, not quite meeting Albus’s eyes, as if uncomfortable with the level of emotion she saw there. Albus couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed of that; so what if he cared a lot, and looked like he did? So what if he maybe cared a little too much? He was in love with Scorpius, and not afraid to admit it. 

Well...perhaps he was a little bit afraid. But that had nothing to do with the feeling itself, or the admittance thereof, and everything to do with his worry over what the reception of said feeling would be, from his family and Scor’s. But this was Rose, and Rose wouldn’t care. She was Albus’s closest friend, aside from Scorpius, and furthermore she was Scor’s friend, too—unlike most of the rest of their sprawling Weasley relations. Albus knew he could be honest with Rose, and not have to worry what she might think. 

But he still wasn’t quite ready to tell her everything, not just yet.

“So, things are good again, between the two of you?” Rose asked, scanning the Great Hall idly. If she was looking for Scorpius, she wasn’t going to find him; he had stayed behind in Arithmancy because he had more questions for Professor Vector, while the rest of the class—like Albus—had sensibly fled, their brains already taxed from the brutal lesson. 

But he’d catch up soon, and then he’d come and sit next to Albus, and everything would be perfect. “Yeah,” Albus answered Rose, knowing that he probably looked like a sappy idiot, and not caring. “Yeah, things are good.  _Great_ , actually.”

“Ah,” said Rose. “‘Great,’ huh? Well, I’m...I’m very glad to hear it.”

Albus beamed. “And it’s thanks to you, Rose. I really, really owe you, this time. Like, epically. If there’s anything—”

“Don’t mention it,” Rose said flatly, “really.”

Albus actually reached out and caught Rose’s hand and squeezed it, just briefly. “Okay,” he said, “Just—know I mean it, all right? Thanks. Really.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rose grunted again. She disengaged her hand from Albus’s grip and stepped backwards, out of his reach. The smile she gave him was stiff and short, then she spun away and hurried off across the Great Hall. 

Albus was still grinning when he turned back to face his revision. He was really, really glad that he had Rose Weasley for a cousin. 


End file.
